


Breakfast at Oikawa's

by owlsshadows



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 07:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16237433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlsshadows/pseuds/owlsshadows
Summary: Keiji wears Tooru's sweater. Breakfast is tasteless anyway.





	Breakfast at Oikawa's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cupofkoushi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupofkoushi/gifts).



> Written for Astrid for the prompt: “I can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.”

“What?” Keiji asks, turning his spoon in the mushy thing Tooru calls porridge – and it’s terrible, really, but Tooru made it, so Keiji has to fight the itch to take a thousand photos of it from all angles and post it on his social media with some sappy caption.

While Keiji is blessed with a natural poker face, Tooru is easy to read like an open book printed in an obnoxiously big font. At Keiji’s voice, he turns bright pink, ears steaming and cheeks burning, his nose scrunching up in that last bit of childish defiance he still manages to retain somehow, no matter how many times he lost face or made an entire fool out of himself in front of Keiji.

He is Oikawa Tooru, someone with a reputation to uphold. Even if he looks more like a cross between a ripe tomato and an excited clownfish, gaping at Keiji with his orange juice forgotten in his hands, he is the number one setter of the national team and the dream of so many.

“You were staring,” Keiji says then. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No… not really,” Tooru starts, careful.

Keiji tips his head to the side, patient.

“I just… I can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.”

“Ah,” Keiji replies. The hurried little sound, somewhere in between a surprised exclamation and a happy sigh, escapes his lips before he can collect himself.

He is Akaashi Keiji, and he also has a reputation to uphold. He is the cool beauty, the ingenious newcomer commentator who analyses every match with his soothing voice and clever remarks, often foreseeing the changes in the matches amazing a country with his skill and charm. Yet his ‘cool’ is nowhere to be found when he drops his spoon in his bowl, taking Tooru's juice on the way to place it safely on the table, and attacking his boyfriend with a big smooch, littering Tooru’s burning red face in kisses.

“You’re adorable,” Keiji says.

“No, you’re the adorable one,” Tooru refutes.

“It’s you.”

“You.”

“Okay, then both of us are adorable,” Keiji says, plopping back to his kitchen stool. Tooru, looking a bit lost, mills around. His ears are as bright as freshly ripen cherries, and Keiji has to fight his urge to stand up again to cover them in kisses. Still, his lips run on their own. “But you are more.”


End file.
